


Choose for Yourself

by thebabytiger



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebabytiger/pseuds/thebabytiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventual Mirandy, set a few weeks after Paris. Miranda realizes that Andrea isn't a disappointment and instead is everything Miranda had said that day in Paris. Now it's Miranda's turn to act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time after Paris that Miranda saw Andrea Sachs is on the street outside the Elias Clark building. It was such a quick encounter that it could barely be considered a blip on the radar that is the busy Editor-in-Chief's life and truly had only happened thanks to chance and sheer coincidence.

Miranda had pushed open the glass doors to the large office building, irritably talking to Emily on the phone despite the fact that she had only just left upstairs moments ago, heels pounding a staccato rhythm on the pavement that was almost instantly swallowed by the noise of the ever-bustling New York City.

"I don't understand why it's so--" she was saying when something, she wasn't sure what, caught her attention enough to falter for the briefest of moments. Easily passing it off as an elongation of the word, she continued, head turning this way and that for whatever had managed to grab her with such a subtle force. "--challenging to get my car when I ask for it." That's all, she thought as she hung up without another word, putting whatever her subconscious had registered at the peripherals of her conscious attention out of her mind when it failed to appear after a cursory glance. She took several more steps, noticing the silver Mercedes pulled up at the curb, door open waiting for her to get in and it wasn't until then that she noticed the feeling of eyes on her from across the street. She looked up an instant before sliding into the black leather interior, pausing as her cool blue eyes met warm familiar brown. Andrea Sachs.

Andrea was smiling at her, which Miranda wouldn't have admitted to being startled by, and, upon noticing that Miranda had seen her, awkwardly inclined her head in greeting to her former boss. Miranda had completely stopped moving at that point, entire being frozen mid motion as her thoughts ground to a halt at the odd and unexpected gesture. Andrea lifted a hand to give a small wave next, as if rethinking the awkwardness that had been her original nod, smiled ( _smiled!_ ), and Miranda became forcibly aware that she was standing there at the open door of her town car only seconds away from looking like the utter fool that Miranda Priestly  _never_  was. Seamlessly, motion returned to her and she slid into the town car's interior, pulling the door closed after her and feeling suddenly grateful for the tinted windows that hid her from most of the passing glances and gave her a moment's respite from the kind eyes of her former assistant. Pulling her sunglasses off and resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose to stave off the confusion and the headache that would likely come with it, her attention was drawn to the window just in time to see Andrea Sachs be lost to the crowd. Walking away from her.

Again. Well didn't that just leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

Still, even despite the self-pity that welled up at the sight of yet another person in her life cheerfully walking away from her (for the second time, no less) she couldn't help but dwell for only a moment on the quite bewildering fact that Andrea had been there, right across the street from her. The instant Miranda had turned around on those steps in Paris she had known that Andrea was gone, and when she had seen the other woman walking away, throwing her phone ever-so-dramatically into that conveniently placed fountain, she had felt the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she would never see Andrea again. Miranda had half a mind to go after the silly girl and fetch her back, but she was Miranda Priestly and she couldn't just leave a luncheon she had just barely arrived at to go fetch her wayward assistant, for goodness sake, so she forced any semblance of regret, indecision, and loss off her face and tried to maintain her calm as she completed her walk up the steps and proceeded inside. But here Andrea was again, and not in the unfortunate way that other former employees had been. While it was true that making it a year as Miranda Priestly's assistant could make your entire career, it was also very seldom that anyone ever thought to thank her for having given their dreams a push. In fact, anyone who found themselves to be in the position of having to see her again after their employ was over made it clear that it was a harrowing experience for them and so Miranda was quite frankly bewildered to have Andrea not only there but  _smiling_  and  _waving_  at her as if there was no bad blood between them.

Then again, Miranda had always known Andrea was different, hadn't she? She had even expressed that exact sentiment the day Andrea had left her in Paris. It was because of that conversation that Andrea had left in the first place and Miranda was still smarting enough from having been abandoned so callously that she didn't care to revisit it right at that moment. She had just assumed that if a conversation like that had gone so terribly awry that Andrea would not be back as a player of any kind in the Editor-in-Chief’s life, let alone a smiling, waving, player. Despite her best efforts not to think of it, she couldn't help, as always, the brief flash of memory that crossed her mind, words spoken from her own lips replaying in her head, trying to figure out what went wrong. Only today there was one more mystery to ponder over, and that was the brunette’s oddly cheery disposition during their brief clandestine encounter.

 _I can see a great deal of myself in you_ , she had said,  _you can see beyond what people want, and what they need, and choose for yourself_. She had intended it to be a compliment. She certainly hadn't meant to spur her assistant to leave her employ within the next several minutes, and certainly not given that it was Paris Fashion Week. And if she had, well she wouldn't have intended to accomplish all that only to have the perplexing woman appear on the sidewalk several weeks later and just... wave... As if nothing of import had happened, as if feelings hadn't been hurt, and as if something unforgivable hadn't been said. She may have seen a lot of herself in the younger woman before, but she didn't any longer. Not after Paris.

Unless, of course, it was Andrea unthinkingly proving Miranda correct after all. Miranda hadn't ever truly considered that fact, as after so many years as a well-known force of nature she was unaccustomed to thinking of herself in the same terms as she thought of other people, but it was possible that in that moment, confronted with the reality that she was everything Miranda had just said and more, Andrea had looked beyond the fact that Miranda wanted and needed an assistant with her while in Paris and had simply left to meet her own wants and needs rather than endlessly catering to Miranda's needs at the expense of her own.

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face at that idea, ignoring the part of her that wished the young brunette hadn’t been quite so independent, and even started to chuckle quietly to herself as she realized that perhaps not all was lost when it came to her former assistant, but she quickly came to her senses as she realized that the town car was still parked at the curb. Ice blue eyes shot up to connect with those of Roy, her driver, in the rear-view mirror and her face instantly twisted into her patented Editor-in-Chief mask, glaring at him incredulously as if amazed at his utter ineptitude. To top it off, she uttered a single direction, infusing every ounce of amazement that he hadn't managed to figure out that much on his own. "Go." 

The car began to pull away from the curb, finally, and she reached up to replace her sunglasses on her face as she settled irritably back into the leather seats. Her eyes were drawn to the windows again, even though by then Andrea was long gone, lost to the crowd, and Miranda's thoughts returned to the young brunette. She had, of course, realized at some point that she liked the assistant a great deal more than she had liked any of the others. She had chalked it up to the fact that Andrea did in many ways remind her of a young Miranda Priestly, but Miranda knew that they were still worlds apart in personality. However, the things that made Andrea different, different from both Miranda and the women that existed at Runway in endless supply as if born from the same exact mold, were the things that Miranda had been forced to admit she liked best about Andrea. The fact that Andrea had always managed to do her job better than almost any previous assistant, that every single challenge was simply a way for the other woman to triumph without appearing to break a sweat. Miranda knew, of course, how working for her appeared to be incredibly taxing on the nerves, and if she had needed proof of it she had to only look as far as her first assistant, Emily, who almost always seemed on the verge of having a total and utter breakdown. But despite this factor, and quite possibly Emily's interference, Andrea always managed to deliver results with a smile. Emily was absolutely terrified of her, but Andrea, Andrea was only afraid of failing and didn't seem to care one whit how scary the Dragon Lady could be on her worst days. She got the tasks done, plain and simple, and all with a smile at the challenges her orders posed. 

She supposed that was why she had sent that fax to the Mirror when she had heard they had called to inquire about Andrea's time at Runway. As Editor-in-Chief of Runway her time was incredibly valuable, and she didn't run her assistants into the ground for no actual reason. It was rare she did something as menial as sending a fax, and truthfully in this case it was something that she typically never even knew about, let alone handled personally. She assumed, of course how could she not, that those people she hadn't outright sacked for incompetency did call into Runway hoping for a reference, and she knew that any such requests she received from those few who made it through a year under her employ were handled by a combination of her assistants and HR. Heaven forbid Miranda actually have to deal with any of them personally.

But with Andrea, Miranda couldn't help but get personally involved. She had been, long before she had managed to hear the conversation taking place in the outer office and had decided that Andrea, who had not even made it through the year long term that would mark her as worthy of Miranda's semi-personal attention, was a matter that she and she alone would handle. To say Emily had been shocked was an understatement, but she was also terrified of questioning her fearsome boss. She was sure the man on the other end of the fax was surprised as well, but she didn't spare more than a thought for that. Miranda Priestly did what she wanted, and that was that. So when she heard Emily snootily inform someone on the other end that he would have to request a reference for one Andrea Sachs from HR, if one was to be had at all (and Emily had sounded very, very sure that there wouldn't be one), Miranda had intervened before another thought could cross her mind. 

Emily was correct: there was no reference waiting to be given from HR with Andrea's name on it. Nor would there be. Miranda's one-year rule was well known, and HR knew better than to attempt taking pity on anyone who hadn't met that standard. That didn't mean that Miranda couldn't do something herself, however. Not giving Andrea a reference hadn't even crossed her mind. So she had demanded the contact information from Emily for the unfortunate man, Greg, who had called and not made a single other comment regarding it. And then she had locked herself in her office and tried to think of what she could possibly say about her former assistant. Or even about why she was breaking every single tradition of hers by attempting to see to it personally.

In the end, she realized that she couldn't possibly manage to write an eloquent, flowery letter of praise for the brunette. Not that she didn't want to, but simply that in the face of all that was Andrea even Miranda's large vocabulary couldn't suffice. Instead, she had settled for the simple, plain truth. Miranda wasn't known for using ten words when one would do, after all. And if what she said was too ambiguous for this potential employer, well, she hoped that the fact that she had seen to it herself resolved that issue fairly quickly.

‘Of all the assistants I have ever had, Andrea Sachs is by far my biggest disappointment,’ Miranda wrote across Runway letterhead in her deliberate, feminine script. ‘If you don't hire her, you're an idiot.’

It was that simple.

She was fairly certain at least one person had nearly fainted when she had strode into the copy room and made herself at home in front of the fax machine as if it was an everyday occurrence. 

She hadn't given herself the chance to dwell too much on the occurrence, which was only made easier given that Emily was terrified to question her about it (a situation which was magnified tenfold when it came to the copy room employees), and had gone about her day, and then, her week. She had allowed herself to fall into the familiar Runway pattern, going from photo shoot to gala to showing to meeting and back again, running her assistants ragged and very deliberately not calling the new girl "Andrea" rather than "Emily". She had no idea what the girl's name actually was, so whatever name Miranda called her would definitely be better than her not having a name at all. And since Andrea had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with Miranda, or Runway, again, it was only right that Miranda make sure that even her name was freed from its service to the Devil herself. 

If Miranda had known that sending a fax was all it would take to summon Andrea Sachs back into her life she would have sent a hundred of them, never mind if one or more of her employees dropped dead of shock.

Miranda was a master manipulator, with patience to spare when working towards a particular goal (though any assistant could tell you she was terribly impatient when it came to things like getting her lattes), but she had always been one who valued actions more than words. Words were tools, but actions were the heart and soul of a person and those who could not please her through their actions were certainly never going to please her with their simpering, cowering words. Andrea had left Runway, and she had chosen for herself. And then she had come back. She had smiled and waved. All actions, rather than meaningless words, and Miranda couldn’t help but cherish the distinct feeling of the heart and soul that thrummed through each one.

The time for Miranda to play the waiting game was gone. The time for words and for patience and for manipulation was gone right along with it. And now it was Miranda's turn to choose for herself between the very same choices Andrea had faced in Paris.

Stay, or go.

Act, or don’t.

So Miranda chose action and in doing so grabbed the proverbial bull by the horns and hoped she wasn't dooming herself once more to the utter agony of hurt, betrayal, and regret that she had felt that day in Paris.

Only time would tell if she would come to regret having done so.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time after Paris that Miranda saw Andrea Sachs was much less of a surprise than the first time. For her, at least.

Considering that she had resolutely chosen action in regards to the younger brunette, and that Miranda was generally predisposed to action, she had not been in a terrible hurry to actually do anything. The time for Miranda to play the waiting game may have been gone, and it most certainly was, but that didn't mean she wasn't engaging herself in a long game of strategy. Her next step, her first step, was absolutely crucial to the success of her plan and that meant that she needed to attend to it with the utmost care and attention, as she did everything. It would not be rushed, nor would Miranda even attempt to try. So when she finally made the first move it was one she had been pondering and rehearsing over and over in her head for several weeks.

It wasn't wholly impossible to find out details about the young woman's life. Andrea, to her credit, had managed to stay in touch with not only Nigel, who, with the experiences from Paris ringing fresh within his memory, would naturally have softened towards the person who had struck even the smallest blow against the indomitable Dragon Lady, but with the red-headed First Assistant as well. For starters, Emily had never been as quiet in conversation as she liked to think. What exactly Andrea had meant by offering the Brit her collection of couture from Paris Miranda couldn't be sure but she was determined to make it so that Andrea would never had a reason to give up everything she had gained at Runway, whether that be a physical item or something a little less tangible. With the door open, or even closed, Miranda was privy to nearly every conversation that took place within the outer office through some fluke of acoustics and Emily had been making quite a display of disgruntlement regarding her former coworker's generosity. That no one had ever noticed the clarity of the sound transfer between offices was a testament to Miranda's skill at holding a captive audience and her acting skills. Amid the loud whinging about needing to see a tailor so that she wouldn't be drowned by the expensive fabrics and some worn-out complaining about having not been able to go to Paris herself (never mind that she was still on crutches), Miranda had managed to learn that Roy would be picking up the specified items from Andrea's apartment in a few weeks, as Andrea was in the midst of moving. She would inform Roy of the new address, which meant that Miranda wouldn't even have to extend herself to obtain it for herself. The silver-haired Editor-in-Chief didn't have any doubts that when Andrea was ready for Roy to pick up the clothes that she would know about it and that no one would have an idea at all that she knew until she chose to reveal it. People were always endlessly surprised by the fashion icon's seeming omniscience, but never endlessly curious about  how she managed to pull off such a party trick. Questions were discouraged. New York City, the fashion industry, and everywhere else were pulled into the very specific dogma that even the lowliest Runway employee could cite in their dreams. Miranda Priestly knew everything. Miranda Priestly saw everything. Miranda Priestly did what she wanted and everyone bowed to her whims. Miranda Priestly was the Devil herself, in the form of the ever-so-stylishly Prada-clad form of the Runway Editor-in-Chief. 

So Miranda had made herself content with waiting. She had listened in on the conversations in her outer office for any new hints of Andrea's doings, of any indication that her wait would soon be over. She had thought over and over on what she would say, had rehearsed three different scenarios in her head until she knew them backwards and forwards better than she knew the content of the upcoming issue of the magazine that she lived and breathed every waking moment of every single day. Eventually, her patience had been rewarded when Emily had appeared at work in something Miranda recognized from one of the shows from the Paris Fashion Week, her small frame dwarfed by the piece of couture which was meant to be oversized, trying to downplay the significance of the item by saying that it was the only thing acceptable in the entire batch of clothes Andrea had given her. On that point Miranda didn't doubt her judgment, though she was certainly very much past the days where she had dared to think of Andrea as the "smart, fat girl" even under the influence of her substantial temper.

Two days later, Roy nearly choked on his tongue when she ordered him to take her to Andrea's residence, rather than ordering him to the townhouse.

She had left work slightly earlier than normal, the Book had been set to be delivered slightly later than normal, and all of those arrangements had been made, one at a time, so that they came together in a way that made it seem like the stars had aligned to make a gap in her schedule just large enough to accommodate this slight detour. Roy had managed to regain his composure before she had been required to unleash the full brunt of her growing annoyance at the delay. He knew better than to ask how she knew that he would be able to take her to the address. No one questioned Miranda Priestly. Miranda Priestly knew everything. Roy had not been Miranda's driver for as long as he had without having learned some of the basics.

She had directed him to pull over a short distance away, not wanting to crowd the area directly outside the apartment building Andrea now lived in, but wanting to ensure that she was close enough that the young reporter could not be missed. And missed she was not, as the woman came around the corner just minutes after Miranda had ordered Roy to a stop. In the rearview and side mirrors of the car, Miranda watched carefully as Andrea walked closer, noted the Mercedes idling by the curb, and then dismissed the car altogether. It was not what she had expected, exactly, but perhaps it was for the best that Andrea had not recognized the car, distinctive though it was. It was far from the only one of its kind, even though the likelihood of seeing one in this neighborhood was very small. But the fact that Andrea didn't expect her could work in her favor; certainly she would not have to worry about chasing her former assistant down the street before she had even managed to speak a single word.

Timing it carefully, Miranda pushed the button for the power windows just as Andrea drew level with her door, calling out before Andrea had finished passing the car entirely.

"Andrea," she called, voice deliberately whisper soft like silk edged with steel. It was the voice of the Editor-in-Chief, one that she saw caused an instantaneously reflexive flinch from Andrea even as the brunette turned to face the car. Well, that simply wouldn't do for too much longer.

"Miranda?" Andrea was clearly surprised, but trying to tamp down the blatant question infused into the single word. Miranda just gave a short nod, not wanting to grace it with any further response. "What are you doing here?" 

Miranda secretly liked being questioned in certain situations, by certain people. At times it was nothing more than insubordination, and that was unacceptable, but she also did quite enjoy terrorizing the people around her just to keep things interesting and she had always been able to appreciate those who didn't mindlessly bow and scrape. Respect was essential. Reverence was preferable. Brainless obedience was tiresome at best. Well-timed wit and a smattering of intelligence almost sought to crack her carefully modulated expressions. Andrea had never been afraid of her, not even in her interview. She had been taught respect, and some amount of reverence, but never had she been brainless. And Miranda's observant eyes had caught her more than once hiding a smile, or fighting one, when things in her office had become too boring for her tastes and she had needed to liven things up somehow. Working with the dragon did not allow for laziness, complacency, or ineptitude. Miranda kept everyone on their toes, whether there was reason at that precise moment for her employees to look alive or not. However, it was this practice, of pushing everyone, that made her woefully aware just how rare it was to find someone whose humor and wit matched her own, who understood her enough to respect her methods and even find amusement in them, despite knowing that often they were the butt of the joke. Andrea had never shrunk away from meeting her gaze, and never backed away from a challenge. And if there was one way Miranda would classify this meeting, it was a challenge. For both of them, really. If this were to proceed, Miranda would have to soften up somewhat when it came to the young reporter. Miranda would never be able to cease her occasional testing, as in Miranda's life things that fell behind were left behind, but nor could Miranda afford, nor want, to make Andrea one of the people who bore the brunt of pleasing the Editor-in-Chief's mercurial moods. There had to be some distinction between her work life and her personal life, after all. Andrea, for her part, would need to be able to deal with Miranda using the same blend of charm and wit that she had as an employee. There could be no shift into impertinence, nor one into fear. Not that Miranda anticipated the latter. Andrea was nothing even approaching timid. Cautious and kind, yes, but timid, never.

However, considering this was their first official meeting since Paris, since Miranda had been Andrea's boss, all expectations and previous knowledge was really off the table and what Miranda knew,  _really knew_ , could fill the size of a thimble. So she settled on what she knew, familiar, somewhat provoking, but ultimately neutral. 

"I was under the impression that you lived in the area, Andrea," Miranda responded to the question after a few unhurried moments of consideration. "And considering this, I thought it more suitable to have a semi-private conversation than your office, were I to stop by. I have no doubt that Emily would try and shoo you right back into the elevator if you actually appeared at mine."

Andrea's mouth twisted up into a slight smile. "Or shove me under a desk to keep me out of sight," she murmured. "There is no such thing as a private conversation in the office of a newspaper." The information was volunteered easily, though it was clearly meant to act as part of the small talk buffer needed to further gauge the conversation. 

"I would imagine so," Miranda responded, wondering if Andrea would continue with her questions or if she would be allowed to launch into the heart of the reason she had come. Miranda detested explaining herself, but she also liked surprising the young brunette, who seemed too easily delighted by the very human responses Miranda had given her at times.

"I won't pretend to understand why you did it, Miranda, but I am very grateful to you for the reference you gave me."

Oh. Somehow, Miranda hadn't expected that topic to come up tonight and she wasn't entirely sure what to say. How rare to be caught flat-footed. She wasn't entirely decided on whether the rarity was a pleasant surprise or not. "I understand that, while most think it a foreign concept to me, it is not customary to burn bridges and several small villages over a simple misunderstanding," Miranda said lightly with a wave of her hand. The reference had been nothing. Truly. She still wasn't sure why she had done it. And with Andrea having left she had certainly wanted to go against custom and do what she had just said. There were 37 bridges in Paris over the Seine alone, the city's population of 2.2 million made it easily several times larger than even the maximum population statistics for something that could be considered a village, and she had wanted to burn each bridge one by one and every single inch of the city one centimeter at a time. She had managed to find restraint, somehow. Andrea's small snort of disbelief was mildly irritating but also not entirely unwelcome. It was rare that Miranda made something that could even be misconstrued as a joke and it was even rarer that anyone laughed. The snort, while inelegant, was not impertinent, and Miranda was heartened to find evidence that Andrea would not be reverting to fear in her presence.

"No, I don't suppose it is customary, is it?" Andrea responded, tone equally light, a hesitant but brilliant smile spreading slowly across her features. "But Miranda," she continued, smile twisting into something slightly more teasing, "it's not exactly customary to build a bridge, either."

Miranda wasn't exactly sure just what she was supposed to say in response so she raised both hands and made a shooing motion, the one that said "That's all" in the most signature Miranda Priestly way. She did not need to justify herself, and most would say that she never did. Miranda Priestly did what she wanted and everyone bowed to her whims. Miranda Priestly did not explain her actions nor her reasoning. But then again, Miranda Priestly did not fax in handwritten references to former second assistants and certainly not the kind of second assistant who had quit, without notice, and left her stranded in the middle of Fashion Week in Paris. Settling on a simple, exasperated, "Really Andrea," she couldn't help but follow it up with, "I'm the Editor-in-Chief of Runway, not an architect and general contractor. What business do I have with building?" 

That she had, actually, built an empire with Runway was not something she was about to bring up, but Andrea did it for her. "You re-built Runway and the entire fashion industry. You've built an empire, Miranda, and anyone who is anyone knows that." A light blush covered her cheeks at that, for some reason, but Miranda wasn't in the mood to pry into that little oddity.

"Mmm," Miranda audibly let that one turn over in her mind a few times before trying to steer the topic back towards what she had originally had in mind. "Perhaps I am a builder of bridges then." Andrea rewarded her with a smile. "But if I am to be a builder of bridges I think it only right that I give myself the chance to finish the work I've started," she said after a slight pause, pondering her next move. "I am not accustomed to justifying my actions," she said, holding up a hand in warning when Andrea opened her mouth. Unsure of what exactly the woman would say, Miranda thought it best to forestall any comments that could possibly come her way before she managed to get to the single point she had in common across the several possible scripts that this conversation had not actually followed at all. "However I do believe that perhaps an explanation might be necessary to complete my work on this particular bridge. If you're amenable, I was hoping that perhaps we could converse about this over dinner, say Friday?" Typically, Miranda didn't phrase requests of this nature as actual questions, either, but for this one in particular she made sure that it came across as something other than a command. 

Andrea's face immediately took on a pensive, puzzled expression, and Miranda tried not to fidget, retract the offer, or use angry words borne of impatience fill the silence that was stretching uncomfortably between the two women. Hands folded in her lap, legs crossed at the ankle, she waited, still as a statue. The silence had stretched for long enough that she was almost certain she would be turned down, and she fought to keep disappointment and bitterness, both new and residual, from her expression.

"You are, of course, under no obligation to accept." Miranda lost her battle, though at least she had managed not to lash out, or worse, fidget.

"Yes." 

Andrea's words had followed so swiftly behind Miranda's that at first Miranda wasn't even sure what she said. When it finally registered, she couldn't help but blink in surprise. After that lengthy deliberation... "You're certain you wouldn't like to think over the offer some more?"

"I'm sure."

Miranda blinked again. Well then. "I trust you didn't decide to change your number when you so abruptly decided to provide yourself a legitimate justification to upgrade your phone?"

"Uh, no, it's still the same," Andrea offered with a somewhat sheepish smile. Miranda sniffed lightly in response.

"Very well, I shall contact you with the particulars later in the week. Goodnight, Andrea." Miranda gave a sharp nod to Roy, who had been watching the entire encounter through the same mirrors Miranda had used to monitor Andrea's approach, and he swiftly pulled away from the curb as she hit the button for the power windows and the tinted glass started to roll back up.

Just before the glass threatened to cut off outside sound entirely, she heard a very faint, somewhat amused mutter. "Goodnight, Miranda."

The impossible happened: Miranda Priestly smiled. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has kudosed and reviewed this story. You all are so amazing and supportive, and I appreciate it so very much. Your feedback means everything to me, and I very much hope you like this next chapter. 
> 
> From this point on, I'm flying totally blind!

The third time after Paris that Miranda saw Andrea Sachs was a surprise to neither of them. 

Perhaps that was why Miranda found herself so nervous. 

Not that Miranda Priestly was ever nervous. In fact, she had managed to tamp down the feeling for the entirety of the day, taking out the excess energy on her assistants and everyone else who had the audacity to cross her path that day. She was just particularly irritable that day, not nervous. Never nervous. Just... disappointed in the fact that no one seemed to be able to make a decent latte anymore, and since it wasn't fit to be drunk of course it could only be fit to line the inside of her trashcan. Just... annoyed that the idiots in the art department wouldn't know a layout if it whacked them in the face and paraded in front of them naked, and since they didn't know what a layout was it was understandable that they would need to work overtime to correct both that oversight and their hideous excuse for a magazine layout. Just... exhausted by how the incompetents in wardrobe couldn't tell the difference between crimson and scarlet. Just... curious to see if they would know the difference when the tongue lashing she was going to give them was severe enough to actually draw blood.

It had been a very long day and an even longer week. Which was astonishing, of course, because it hadn't even been an entire week since her encounter with Andrea. She had been sure to schedule their meeting for far enough in the future that the young now-reporter could back out, if she wanted, but for once the wait had not sat easily with Miranda. Neither had the fact that she had been the one to lay the responsibility for making arrangements solely on her own shoulders. She supposed that she had, in a fit of thoughtlessness, wanted to ensure that this new relationship with Andrea, whatever would come of it, was not too similar to the relationship they had previously shared. Of course, she was kicking herself for that piece of chivalry, as now she was forced to make dinner reservations and had no idea what sort of place the younger woman would prefer. At least Andrea had enough experience catering to most of her whims that she could have picked out a place that would be acceptable to both. And it wasn't as if Miranda could ask Emily, or Nigel. Or Roy.

So she had taken a wild stab in the dark, which still made her vaguely uncomfortable to even contemplate, and had picked something upscale enough to grant them the required privacy but that still served a wide variety of foods that she hoped would be acceptable for both of them. And then she had made the reservations herself, mimicking the slightly nasal tones of Emily's accent, not willing to entrust the reservations to be made properly despite the no doubt crystal clear set of instructions. She wasn't entirely sure what her assistant, either of them, could manage to misconstrue from "that place that was featured in the Times last year" but it wasn't worth risking their propensity for idiocy.

She did, however, entrust them with the task of clearing her schedule from Friday at 5pm until Monday morning. Not that Miranda needed two hours to prepare for a simple dinner, because of course that would be absurd.

She miraculously left the office precisely at 5pm and headed to the townhouse to change. A week of deliberation, and she still hadn't decided on her wardrobe but, in the haste of the moment and the pressure of the impending headache that she could only stave off for so long with a pinch to the bridge of her nose, she decided for something simple and understated. A classic little black dress, wrap style, and clearly designer. She kept her accessories simple, diamond drop earrings, a relatively small diamond pendant, and a matching bracelet. A black pair of Prada pumps and a simple, over-sized clutch completed the ensemble. She only stared at herself in the mirror for five minutes before getting into the car.

Nearly an hour ahead of schedule.

With a sigh, she instructed Roy to drive around until it was a more reasonable time. She would still be early, of course, Miranda always was by at least fifteen minutes. This would be no exception. Particularly as she was currently running an hour and fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. It's not like arriving on time, at that point, was reaching for the stars.

And yet, when the maître d' showed her to the secluded, corner booth that she had requested, she was astonished to find Andrea rising from her chair to greet her. So astonished that for a second she stopped walking entirely as her eyes followed the sleek lines of the brunette's attire of their own accord. Dimly, she was aware of nodding once, and then once more as she struggled to keep her legs moving and her eyes to refocus on Andrea's face. She blinked, and then the vision in the red sheath dress was in front of her, brown eyes sparkling.

"Miranda," she murmured, leaning forward to bestow two air-kisses as if they were at some sort of gala.

"Andrea," Miranda managed to return, voice fighting not to crack as her eyes finally found the young woman's face. "Chanel suits you." Resolutely, her eyes never wavered.

"High praise indeed, thank you," Andrea said in light jest, moving back to her chair though waiting to take a seat until Miranda had taken her cue and done the same. "I waited to decide on a wine until you arrived," she explained as a server popped forward to present them both with wine lists as if magicked from thin air.

Efficient. Miranda had found herself missing the other woman's natural sense for getting things arranged just right. Maybe forcing her brain to actually make a decision or two would force her head back in the game. This was twice in as many conversations that Miranda had been pushed off balance by the younger woman, and whereas she had recovered fairly quickly the last time, it didn't seem like that would be the case this time. Worse, it seemed as if the younger woman was quite enjoying herself. Miranda definitely needed a drink.

"I'll leave the wine up to you, Andrea," she said, trying to sound less bewildered and more sure of herself than she actually felt. "I do believe I'm going to start with a martini." She resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose as she ordered her drink. 

Andrea's keen eyes, well trained to notice every micro-expression and small gestures, didn't miss the motion before she managed to stop it. Miranda saw the look in her eyes as she took it all in, vainly trying to correct her body language but knowing it was too late. With barely a look at the menu, Andrea pointed to the wine she wanted, softly instructing the waiter to bring the bottle.

"Long week?" she ventured, once the man had gone to get their drinks. 

"Interminable," Miranda answered in a rare moment of honestly. And the night was starting to feel even longer with the entirety of dinner ahead of them now that Miranda's nervous energy, the driving force of the entire week, was beginning to fade and drain away. Not that she was fighting it too hard. She still had enough in her to maintain herself in public, and if she seemed a little tired, a little weary, well it was nothing Andrea hadn't seen before. 

"Miranda I know you're incredibly busy. If you want to reschedule it's not a problem."

"No." Blue eyes met brown, trying to convince the reporter of her sincerity. The whole week had led to this, after all. Not only was there no use in cancelling, or rescheduling, Miranda also knew that she didn't want to. She couldn't be entirely sure, of course, but she didn't think that a single dinner with the woman in front of her, guard lowered, would result in too much damage. And given her propensity for saying extremely ill-advised things, most especially when she was entirely in the role of the Ice Queen, perhaps it was actually better that she had melted just a little bit. "No, I don't think I'll be rescheduling," she said, waving her hand slightly.

"Oh."

At the sight of the small flicker of hurt, the brunette sitting back just a little bit, Miranda finally gave into the urge to reach up and pinch the bridge of her nose. Perhaps a thawed Ice Queen wasn't actually better at all. "I would like to be here, Andrea, tired or not," she tried to explain as gently as possible. "Perhaps I'm being presumptuous, but maybe I will find myself requesting a rain check for our second meeting. But not tonight."

Whatever reply Andrea was going to make was halted as the waiter returned with their drinks. Raising her martini slightly in a silent toast, Miranda let the chilled liquid slide down her throat as she saw Andrea take a sip of her own drink and with the alcohol some of her energy returned. They made very polite small talk as they waited for their food, and two martinis later Miranda had switched to wine, finding that Andrea had picked out an excellent bottle.

It was interesting, she thought, watching her former assistant's face light up as she related some small anecdote about a news story she had covered recently, how animated the woman was. Miranda honestly couldn't remember a dinner where she had been seated across the table from someone who was utterly unafraid to be themselves around her. Typically, she was eating with designers or members of the Board of Directors, in which case conversation was polite, but shallow, and the people she dined with were terrified that with one wrong move they would find themselves blacklisted. Miranda had never yet ruined a career over how much pepper someone preferred on their salad, but by the way they acted you would never know it. But Andrea either knew this fact or didn't care if the way she preferred her steak offended Miranda's sensibilities. The fact that Andrea even preferred steak was an unusual occurrence in and of itself given that Miranda was normally surrounded by stick thin models. After forty-five minutes of staring at Andrea, Miranda wasn't even sure why models were so skinny, when clearly beauty wore a size four.

"Are you happy at the Mirror, Andrea?" Miranda found herself asking absently some point after their dishes had been cleared. She had totally lost track of time, conversing with the younger woman, and Miranda had found herself wishing that she had realized fully how amazing the woman in front of her was when she had been her assistant. Perhaps then, in Paris..

Andrea cocked her head at the question, clearly trying to discover which of Miranda's many moods and motivations this was coming from. "I am, Miranda," was the eventual answer. "I can't thank you enough for the reference you gave me."

Miranda waved her hand as if to bat away the mention of the reference that she still didn't know why she had sent.

"No, I know you keep saying that it's nothing, Miranda, but it wasn't nothing to me. Please don't trivialize the gesture." Miranda sighed, managing not to roll her eyes. "It was certainly more than I was expecting."

"And I told you last time we met that I did understand that burning a bridge isn't necessary. Wasn't necessary."

"I'm not sure I know a single person who would believe me, Miranda, if I told them that after Paris there was a reference from you waiting for me at my first interview. I didn't even make it the year as your assistant. Emily hates me for it. A reference was more than I could have hoped for. More than I deserved. So thank you, Miranda."

"More than you deserved?" Miranda heard herself asking, although she had certainly believed similarly right after Paris. And then, for unknown reasons, she had sent that reference, and magically she no longer felt the way she did. It hurt, oh yes, it still hurt, but she no longer felt the need to throw something glass across the room. 

"I left you, Miranda, and I'm not proud of it. For starters it was incredibly unprofessional."

"I pushed you." Again, it seemed as if her mouth was going to continue speaking without actually checking in with her brain. 

"You would have paid Nigel back, eventually. He and I both know that. I should have known that then. I shouldn't have been so easy to push away." Everything about the young brunette screamed of earnestness. "I'm sorry for leaving, Miranda."

"Andrea," the Editor-in-Chief spoke wryly, "I had been under the impression that this dinner was to be my chance to finish building that bridge we spoke of the other night but it seems as though you're determined to finish the work for me. You're not my assistant any longer."

Andrea blushed lightly. "Old habits die hard?" she suggested weakly.

Miranda's eyes reflected her amusement, though she fought to keep her tone its usual, dry cadence. "Yes, well we shall have to keep an eye on that before you find yourself back in my employ. Milan Fashion Week is coming up and I'd rather not have to double up on assistants."

"Irv would be thrilled at having the extra person along, I'm sure," Andrea grinned at her.

"It's well within my budget," Miranda said negligently.

Andrea snorted. "Miranda, we both know every cent of your budget is fought over and we also both know that you frequently spend more than Irv ever wants to give you."

"He is rather uptight about those things, isn't he?"

"Mhmm," Andrea agreed, taking another sip of her wine. Then she checked her watch, eyes growing wide. "Have we really been here for that long?"

Miranda's eyes found a clock on the wall, shocked herself to find that it had been several hours since she had sat down. Conversation had ensured that the time had flown. Hand lifted, she wordlessly requested the check, placing her own card in it before Andrea could even begin to object.

"For all of the boring dinners Irv makes me sit through, Andrea, I'd say he owes me at least one pleasant one," she explained with a mischievous smirk. It hadn't been a company card, of course, but given their recent conversation about the budget she thought the remark especially fitting. Andrea laughed.

"You aren't really charging that to Runway, are you?"

"Well, why shouldn't I? A dinner with a rising journalist can only do good things for the image of the magazine," she explained haughtily. "But no, I'm not. I don't make it a habit to charge personal expenses to Irv's account, no matter how badly I might wish to. And as this is not actually related to Runway, but rather has been a very pleasant distraction, Irv won't be footing the bill for this one."

Whatever frown had formed on the young woman's face had smoothed out as soon as the words "personal expense" had been mentioned. The waiter returned with their check fairly quickly, enabling Miranda to sign her name with a slight flourish only moments later. Grabbing her purse, Miranda wordlessly asked if the other woman was ready to go. Andrea reached for her purse with a slight smile and together the pair walked until they were pushing through the restaurant doors. 

"Andrea, I gave you a choice, in Paris," she said, apropos of nothing, turning to face the younger woman. Involuntarily, her eyes performed another sweep of the woman's body, once more noting the perfect drape, dip, and pull of the fabric across the former assistant's pale skin. "At the time I didn't believe you'd chosen correctly, but now I realize that you wouldn't be the woman I thought you were had you done any differently." She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply through her nose. "My timing obviously leaves much to be desired. However, whatever test I intended it to be, I do believe you have passed it. That's not something many do," she added when it seemed like Andrea was going to interject. "I am very much aware that to some, my 'tests' are more akin to the labors of Hercules. I was very much surprised," she went on, "at how effortlessly you seemed to exceed my expectations. And I have no doubt that you will continue to do the same to any employer you may find. Your spirit is very refreshing, Andrea, and I do hope I'm not being too forward when I say that I wouldn't choose to have less of it in my life."

"That's twice you've mentioned seeing me again, Ms. Priestly," Andrea said, clearly teasing the other woman. "A girl could start thinking you've missed me."

"I have," Miranda said simply, voice slightly hoarse. Andrea's eyes went wide and she suddenly was standing very still, as if afraid to move. Sniffing primly, as if that would fix the issue, she went on in a bored, indifferent drawl, "After all, it's not as if I find myself surrounded by anyone competent on a daily basis."

Andrea relaxed, though continued to eye Miranda with a little bit of curiosity, as though Miranda was a giant puzzle to solve. 

"Next time, I'll pick the venue for our outing," was all she said, stepping close enough that Miranda could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, which suddenly seemed to be clouding her mind. "Try not to kill anyone in the design team before the print deadline. You might feel better for a moment but replacing them won't be worth the hassle, not to mention the tedium of having to deal with the police." Her tone was once more light and teasing, and Miranda couldn't help but gape at her, right back where the evening had begun.

"Of course not, Andrea, don't be ridiculous," Miranda protested weakly. "If anyone goes it will be someone in wardrobe." Andrea's quiet laugh was even more enchanting now that the pair wasn't separated by a table and Miranda found herself fighting the urge to close her eyes. Dimly, she heard the sound of a car door opening and then Andrea was impossibly closer, lips brushing softly against first one cheek and then the other in a more intimate facsimile of the air kisses she had bestowed on the silver-haired woman earlier that night. Miranda returned the gesture as if in a trance.

"I sent Roy a text. He should be here in the next few moments. Goodnight Miranda," Andrea said, voice very close to her ear, before stepping away entirely with a soft smile and taking the few remaining steps to slip into the waiting cab. 

As predicted, the familiar silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb, occupying the space the yellow taxi had just vacated, as Roy stepped smartly around the car to open the door for her. Miranda moved on auto-pilot, eyes still following the taxi as it quickly got lost in the traffic of the city.

"To the townhouse please, Roy," she instructed softly once it had turned the corner and was lost from view. Her head was finally starting to clear, and she ruefully shook her head at how amazingly out of her control the entire situation had spun.

And she still didn't have a single idea how Andrea could have sent that text without her having seen it.

Miranda was strongly beginning to suspect that her days of challenging Andrea were over.

Now, Andrea was challenging her.


	4. Chapter 4

The fourth time after Paris that Miranda saw Andrea Sachs was on her own front doorstep.

After their previous meeting, Miranda hardly dared to call it a  _date_ , she had suspected that Andrea was going to be quite a challenge and the few weeks between that meeting and this exact moment had not proved Miranda wrong.

To put it quite simply, the younger woman was infuriating. In all the best ways, of course, which was starting to seem an awful lot like the worst way imaginable. Not only had it been two weeks of being totally in the dark, though semi-contact with Andrea had kept her from thinking the worst, but the younger woman seemed to delight in the massive struggle Miranda was enduring in order to prevent herself from outright demanding to know more about this afternoon's outing. Not that Andrea would cave to such demands; of that much Miranda was certain. In fact, all of Miranda's subtle probes had resulted in a deft parry, accompanied with a grin that Miranda could hear even over the phone. Those phone calls, few though they were, had ended in a silky, near waspish, "That's all" and a traditionally Miranda Priestly-esque unceremoniously abrupt termination. Not that Andrea seemed to mind much, or so Miranda had hoped.

But the icing on the cake had been Andrea's instructions for this surprise outing. Miranda was apparently not privileged enough to know the location of this mystery outing but had been instructed on how to dress. As if the fashion maven needed to be taking wardrobe instructions from a former assistant. Especially one that had shown such abysmal fashion sense prior to her tenure at Runway. And just what, exactly, did Andrea mean by 'casual'?

Miranda had spent the better part of the morning considering how utterly unhelpful dress code designations could be for women. For men it was quite simple, with helpful, literal, designations like "white tie" and "black tie", but for women not only was it infinitely more complicated, it was made all the more different considering the large spectrum of clothing it needed to cover. Add to that the fact that Miranda Priestly dressed in office-ready couture nearly every day of her life, and when she wasn't office-ready she was almost always gala-ready instead, and Miranda found herself in the unusual position of staring at a closet full of clothes with nothing to wear.

In the end, she settled on a pair of lightweight slacks, a low pair of pumps, and a relatively plain tweed jacket. That was about as casual as it was going to get and if Andrea wanted something different well... Miranda hoped she had brought the proper clothes with her.

But when Miranda descended the stairs, drawn by the sound of the doorbell from the pathetic depths of a closet the size of some of New York's smaller apartments, it was to find that Andrea hadn't brought clothes with her after all and also that the twins had beaten her to it, if only by the slimmest of margins.

Oh. She paused on the steps, overcome by the urge to eavesdrop even as she fought the urge to rush into the foyer and run interference for Andrea against her girls. Miranda loved her twins more than anything in the world, of course, but even she knew they could be quite the handful. Although Andrea was likely no stranger to the two pre-teens, there was a reason Miranda tended to keep dates away from the townhouse unless the girls were with their father. And after having driven Andrea off herself, in Paris, Miranda wasn't inclined to let the youngest Priestleys demonstrate exactly how far the apples hadn't fallen from their tree.

"Who are you?" Caroline was asking Andrea, with a thinly veiled hostility that made Miranda wince. 

"You look familiar," Cassidy chimed in, cocking her head to the side in contemplation.

Luckily, Andrea seemed to take the sudden appearance of the Inquisition in stride, and she offered the girls a wide, genuine smile. "My name is Andy Sachs," she said cheerfully, "and I probably look familiar because I used to work for your mom at Runway."

Caroline's nose wrinkled in confusion. "If you don't work for her anymore, then why are you here?" she wanted to know. It certainly was not something they had ever encountered before. Typically, former employees ran as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Screaming. 

That was Miranda's cue. "Now, now, Bobbseys, let's give poor Andrea some space to breathe, shall we?" The tone of voice that made it crystal clear that she was not actually asking. Reluctantly, the girls gave way to include their mother in the foyer. "Hello Andrea, please come in." The smile on the Editor-in-Chief's face was small, but genuine as blue eyes performed their customary once-over of the brunette's outfit. Miranda wasn't sure that she even owned a single piece of denim, but after one glance at Andrea in the pair of jeans she was wearing Miranda was fairly certain that the journalist should never wear anything else. It was, quite possibly, the only thing as sinfully beautiful as the Chanel she had worn at their previous meeting. 

"Hello Miranda," Andrea said warmly, brown eyes sparkling as she took the few steps over the threshold and into the foyer required to put her right in front of Miranda and, with a playful impulse that the older woman hoped would last throughout their soiree, manicured hands reached out to pull the brunette closer to her, bestowing the same lingering "air" kisses that she had spent the better part of two weeks trying and failing to forget. The feel of Andrea's lips against her own skin had been burned into Miranda's memory and Miranda could only hope that now they were at least even.

"Girls," Miranda continued, voice a little more hoarse than she could have wished for, once there was some distance between the two women again, "you remember Andrea, right? I believe she's the one responsible for getting you that Harry Potter book you both were so excited about." She was rewarded with two widening sets of blue eyes, a more cerulean shade than their mother's icy blue, and a small smile curved her lips at the sight.

"You got those for us?" Cassidy wanted to know, as if convinced that Miranda was pulling her leg.

"I did," Andrea confirmed with a small smile. "I'm glad to hear you enjoyed them."

"Wait, if that was you, why don't you work for Mom anymore?" That, of course, was Caroline, the slightly more hostile twin, who was not making any attempts to hide the suspicion from her tone. Miranda couldn't quite bring herself to blame them, given how utterly unusual Andrea was in comparison to all previous former assistants. Or employees, in general. And Miranda, and the girls by extension, had learned the hard way that people who acted outside the usual boundaries of normal were likely fake and were not to be trusted. Real people, who weren't looking for something or wanting something and who were to be trusted, well, they simply did not do all of the things that Andrea did. Any of the things Andrea did. They did not manage to get impossible manuscripts. They did not avoid getting fired over failing an impossible task only to quit over something else entirely a few weeks later. They did not wave at her from across the street (yes, Miranda was still hung up on that one). They did not stay and talk to a woman parked in a towncar with tinted windows who was clearly waiting to speak to them in a somewhat stalkerish manner near their home. They did not meet their former boss, who had driven them to quit on the spot, for dinner after that kind of vaguely stalkerish encounter. And they certainly did not ring the doorbell of the townhouse with a smile so that they could take her out on a mystery outing. At least, not one that ended with her still being alive. 

"Andrea is a journalist now, Bobbsey," Miranda cut in quickly, "at the Mirror."

"So what is she doing here then?" the feisty red-head was quick to retort. Miranda should have known that this tidbit of information wouldn't have helped. The girls were unfortunately, though understandably, wary of the Press, with no exceptions to date. 

"Isn't your mom allowed to have friends?" Andrea cut in, shocking Miranda just a bit. 

"I guess so," came the response, this time from Cassidy, who nudged her twin when it looked like Caroline was about to say something ill-advised.

"Girls," Miranda interrupted before this could go very much farther, "Why don't you both head back upstairs and let Andrea and I talk?" Again, it wasn't a question and luckily the twins didn't feel the need to protest.

"Friends, huh?" Miranda said when she could no longer hear the small herd of elephants that seemed to follow her daughters wherever they went.

"Yeah. Is that okay?" Andrea seemed a bit unsure of herself, though she had on a strangely confident smile. 

"I think I could warm to the idea, yes," the silver-haired woman answered her in a slightly bored drawl. "And while we're on the topic of things I could warm to, I had rather hoped you would desist with all the secrecy and just tell me where it is we're going?"

"Well I suppose I could do that..." Andrea was clearly just teasing, but as ice blue eyes flashed in a warning glare, she finally relented. "How do you feel about the Park? It's a lovely day."

Miranda considered that for a moment, noting that it was much more public than the restaurant had been but at the same time much less intimate. Although parks had a way of seeming so very romantic... 

"That sounds wonderful. Let me just tell the girls goodbye," Miranda answered with a slight smile. Cara, the housekeeper, was home to watch the girls while Miranda was gone, so she had no qualms about leaving them in the house while she went with Andrea. She turned to go, but movement caught the corner of her eye and when she turned back it was to find Andrea shifting her weight from side to side with a nervous hesitance. "Yes?" Miranda asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I had thought that maybe you'd like to bring the girls with us? Patricia too, if you're up for it." Now that wasn't a response Miranda had been expecting. It was no secret to her, though many thought that it was, that her twin daughters loved to terrorize all of her employees and that many of the people who worked at Runway thought Miranda's children were little better than demonic spawn. It certainly didn't help that they tended to be quite the little pranksters and Miranda was almost certain that Andrea had fallen victim to at least one prank. In fact, thinking back on it, Miranda was forced to conclude that at least one instance practically reeked of the twin's interference, as there was simply no way that Andrea could have ever been quite so idiotic. In which case, Miranda wasn't entirely sure why Andrea would willingly want to spend time with the girls, not after they had determinedly made her life difficult and when their manners only moments before were lacking. Patricia, of course, was the well-behaved child that she found herself wishing for almost every day.

"Are you certain?"

Andrea gave a small sigh. "Miranda, I understand how important the twins are to you and I also understand just how little time you actually have available to spend with them. So yes, I'm serious. I couldn't possibly feel right knowing that you were giving up time with them just to spend it with me." Miranda stared at the brunette, utterly speechless, for a long moment. Andy gave a slightly wicked grin. "Besides, I believe the girls and I have reached an understanding of one another."

The older woman raised an eyebrow in question as her suspicions were confirmed to be well-founded. "Do I want to know?"

"If you'd rather start planning a few funerals than go to the Park, I suppose I could tell you," Andrea shrugged nonchalantly but her grin had gone from wicked to simply playful.

"Perhaps on Monday, then," Miranda said negligently, waving her hand to indicate how little she cared about the whole prospect, "after all it's much to nice a weekend to be doing that kind of work." She was rewarded for her comment by a wide smile. "Let me go get the girls, then," Miranda added, excusing herself and slipping back upstairs. 

It didn't take much for Miranda to persuade the twins to come on their outing to the Park, and there was only minimal thundering around the house in their efforts to get ready. Patricia was even easier to corral, as she came when called and did so with much less noise than the twins, despite easily weighing as much, if not more than one of the young red-heads. In nearly no time at all all four Priestleys were standing in the foyer once more, the twins grinning up at Andrea with none of the earlier distrust and hostility. Miranda's girls always had been rather mercurial.

"Are you really taking all four of us to the park, Andy?" Cassidy was asking as Miranda entered the room, having just told Cara that she was free to leave, as she was taking the girls with her.

"You mom thought it would be fun," Andy returned, with an infectious grin that bellied the small white lie she had just given voice to. Which Miranda couldn't let go... though she was tempted.

"As flattering as Andrea's version of events is," she interrupted firmly, but gently, "I do believe that all of this was her idea. I've been trying to get the truth of her plans out of her for quite some time now." Andrea had the grace to blush slightly, and Miranda gave the smallest smirk of triumph. "Now, do you all plan on continuing to move at this positively glacial pace? By the time we actually arrive I wouldn't be surprised to find the entire park frosted over again for the winter."

Effectively chastened, they were out the door in short order and at the park after an easy stroll through the few blocks that separated the Priestly townhouse from the Park itself. 

Central Park was always beautiful, no matter the season, but on this particular sunny spring day, it was particularly so. Everywhere Miranda looked she could see people who had also decided to enjoy the day and the beautiful peace that the Park had to offer and while it was full, it wasn't overly crowded. They continued as a group slightly further into the park, leaving behind the honking and other sounds of city life with which the city always teemed and trading them in for the sounds of joggers, kids, dogs, and nature. Andrea had managed to guide them to a fairly secluded spot, open enough for the twins and Patricia to run around but with several trees casting shade on the ground for she and Miranda to sit under. The young brunette had also brought a small picnic basket, which had been sitting outside on the steps to the townhouse, and a blanket, which she spread carefully under the trees as Miranda reminded the girls to stay close (though they had already taken off, chasing after Patricia, so her words fell on deaf ears).

"Care to sit with me?" Andrea asked with a coy smile, looking up at her from her position on the blanket. She wasn't sure the world was ready for the type of Miranda Priestly who sat on blankets in the park, but the offer, complete with an elegant hand patting the space next to her, looked too enticing to refuse. The world, Miranda decided, would have to get over it, as she lowered herself to the ground next to Andrea with barely a moment's hesitation.

"So what else did you have planned for this outing of ours?" she inquired, reaching out to pull a sparkling water (just the brand she liked) free from the picnic basket.

Andrea stared at her for a moment. "Honestly, I thought we'd make this up as we went along."

"Really?" Miranda drawled, one eyebrow arched.

"Yes, really," Andrea shot back, voice playfully challenging. "We are two intelligent women so I thought it was fairly certain that we would be able to entertain ourselves until the girls manage to tire themselves out."

"By the looks of it, we won't have to improvise for too long," Miranda murmured, turning her attention temporarily away from Andrea's eyes, as enticing to her as the molten chocolate their color resembled, to locate the twins. The two redheads were still running pell-mell across the park, a happily barking Patricia running back and forth between them. 

"Then I guess we'll have to make the most of it," Andrea said, voice slightly husky and suddenly much too close. Miranda gave a stifled gasp, turning her head to find that the brunette had leaned closer and they were now face to face with one another. Miranda wasn't one who typically startled easily, but she found herself fighting the urge to shift closer to her former assistant, who was now so close Miranda could feel herself wanting to relax into the heat of her body and whose eyes were now glinting with something so dangerous Miranda wondered if it was possible to drown in them. It wasn't that she wanted to move; oddly she found herself wanting quite the opposite. Instead, it was the idea that she should move which had her finally shifting her body further from Andrea's, though she reached out to place her hand on top of that of the younger woman's to ease the sting, and hopefully convey what she dared not put into words.

"I would imagine two intelligent women, as you said earlier, could manage to get themselves into quite a bit of trouble in very little time, if they put their minds to it," she whispered, fighting back a blush as her brain fully caught up to the idea that she was flirting with a woman decades her junior.

"Miranda, I--," Andrea began very seriously, before pausing. When she spoke next, her tone had lightened but there seemed to be a distance in it that hadn't been there before, "--think that perhaps this might not be the most ideal trouble-making setting," Andrea said, leaning back and running a hand distractedly through her hair. The other hand stayed under Miranda's, but clearly the moment had been broken the instant the other woman had paused mid-sentence. Miranda couldn't help but wonder what would have been uttered if the young journalist hadn't so clearly changed her mind about how to respond. 

If they were playing a game in which there were points, which in a sense they were, the point had clearly just gone to Miranda as, despite the older woman's nerves, the younger woman had been the one to ultimately cry uncle. Strangely enough, it didn't quite feel like winning.

Still, Miranda didn't push the matter. "Too many witnesses to testify against us in court," she agreed with a solemn nod.

Andrea's eyebrows arched skyward. "Court implies that we would have done something illegal. It's a little early in this friendship to be coercing me into helping you live your life of crime, don't you think?" Miranda may have been hearing things but she was fairly certain that the word friendship jarred discordantly against the rest of the comment. She didn't think she was. Miranda Priestly was never wrong, even if she (rarely) could and did admit to some wrong-doing in the privacy of her own mind.

Miranda couldn't help but smile, even if there was something about the sentence that put her ever so slightly on edge. "Andrea, not so long ago you were my assistant," she drawled casually, ice blue eyes sparkling with barely restrained mirth. "What's to say that you haven't already been helping me live my life of crime?"

"At least in that instance I would have an argument that could keep me out of prison. Inmate orange is not a crime of fashion I plan on committing, ever." Andrea's defiant declaration greeted that question and Miranda gave a haughty toss of her head, gaze turning away from the brunette beside her to the twin red-heads who were just starting to tire of chasing the indefatigable Saint Bernard, if the slowing pace and heavy breaths that were obvious even from a distance were any indication. 

"So you draw the line at cerulean sweaters when it comes to crime of fashion, then?" Miranda asked pointedly, though she immediately gave a slight wince at the reference.

"At least that was inspired, however loosely, by the De la Renta collection," Andrea responded somewhat hotly. "I won't believe a single word that comes out of your mouth if you try to justify the designer influences on standard prison garb." Andrea seemed quite adamant, if a little huffy, but Miranda was pleased to note that Andrea's hand made no move to escape from the grasp of its captor. Apparently, Miranda was better at this teasing and joking thing than even she had anticipated. Which was good, because otherwise she would have an alarming propensity for putting her foot in it.

"I wouldn't even dream of attempting it, darling," she said softly, in a tone of voice meant to reassure the younger woman. It seemed to do the trick, as any tension that had appeared in the brunette's posture seemed to ease away.

"Good," Andrea purred in apparent satisfaction. "Because I like a woman who knows when she's beat."

Well that was not something that could typically be said of Miranda Priestly, but perhaps when it came to this woman in particular, it was true. After all, hadn't she already given in to the idea that Andrea would be quite a challenge two weeks ago? Perhaps, in some instances, she would and could be beat by this astonishing woman beside her. And perhaps she wouldn't even mind it.

"Mmm," she hummed noncommitally, though she didn't make a move to disagree with the previous statement.

Silence fell across the pair and Miranda's eyes once more sought out her daughters, now much less active and throwing a frisbee between them to indulge Patricia in her continuing burst of energy.

Absently, Miranda's thumb started to move across the smooth skin of the hand lying trapped pleasantly underneath hers, gazing out across the perfect green of the park on a clear, sunny day, realizing that the emotion that was growing in her chest was starting to feel dangerously close to contentment. 


End file.
